


Push and Pull

by captainshellhead, vibraniumstark



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainshellhead/pseuds/captainshellhead, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vibraniumstark/pseuds/vibraniumstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jealousy can sneak up on you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push and Pull

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starkoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkoholic/gifts).



> Thanks to malfaisant for betaing :)

Laurence ducked somewhat rudely between two aviators in mid-conversation in order to evade a stately woman who seemed to be coaching her daughter on how best to approach him. The two aviators didn’t bat an eye at his budging between them, one of them breaking off mid-sentence to greet him cheerily as he slipped into the crowd on the other side of them.

He peered over to the corner of the room where many of the aviators had gathered. The evening had provided him very little opportunity to escape into their ranks. The last half hour had seen Granby and Little arriving quite late, likely entirely thanks to Iskierka. The coat Granby was wearing was bordering on inappropriate for the occasion, and she had certainly not gotten him in it without a fight. He had shucked it almost immediately upon entering the room, with some embarrassment, and was carrying it now draped awkwardly over his arm. Laurence had not seen Tharkay arrive, but he picked him easily out of the crowd, far removed from the gentry on the other side of the room. 

He looked very much at ease, though Laurence knew that likely he would have preferred not to come to such an event at all, and had very nearly chosen to decline the invitation. It was only by coincidence that Temeraire had mentioned to Arkady that his captain was to be honored as a war hero at the event. It was, in Laurence’s opinion, a bold exaggeration, but it had done the job. Arkady, seeing Tharkay as the closest thing to a captain despite Temeraire’s own possessiveness on the matter, had yowled and moaned until Tharkay had at last agreed to attend.

Laurence contemplated slipping away to join him. It had been a long while since he’d had the opportunity to simply enjoy the man’s company. Regardless, even if he could in good conscience ignore the rest of the guests to join him, Laurence doubted he would escape so easily.

He was certainly not the only person they were meant to honor tonight, but he was perhaps one of the more inoffensive conversationalists, and so several of the guests had been clamoring for his attention all evening. He’d had very little opportunity to break away to see how the rest of the aviators in attendance faired.

Throughout the night the party had slowly divided into two factions, with the most censorious of the guests having removed themselves to the furthest corner of the room from the large majority of the aviators in attendance, having little more interaction with them than to cast the occasional shocked glance in their direction when the conversation grew too rowdy. The aviators, for their part, seemed to be blissfully unaware of the division, happily attempting to include anyone willing to join in on their conversation. Laurence had so far spent his evening spreading his conversation between the two halves, partially in an attempt to show a good face for his fellows.

Tharkay was seated at a table at the far end of the room, leaning comfortably back in his chair. He was in his aviator’s uniform for the occasion, and was probably among the more well-dressed of the company, coat pressed to perfection and hair swept back and arranged neatly. He was, Laurence knew, well practiced with the rules and mannerisms demanded of a party such as this, but Laurence could not blame him for choosing to stay among the aviators, who no doubt were far more accustomed to his company, and required far less effort to prove that he belonged. Chenery stood next to him with one hip leaning against the table, arms crossed and grinning impishly at their conversation. 

Laurence cleared his throat and tore his attention away from the pair. A woman skirted past him with a precariously balanced serving tray, and he trailed after her to fetch himself another glass of wine. It did not last him very long, and Laurence found himself requesting another as he was cornered by a gentleman whom he did not personally know, but who was apparently an acquaintance of his father. He had, perhaps, the most monotone speaking voice Laurence had ever heard, and had up until that point been putting his audience to sleep with discussions of France’s current social climate. Once Laurence joined the fray he happily switched to the topic of the war, still fresh in their memories and certainly something with much more potential to be exciting, but still no match for his drawling monotone. Laurence found himself glancing back across the room over the rim of his glass. 

Tharkay was smiling not with the wry quirk of his lips that Laurence had grown so accustomed to seeing, but openly and with clear affection. The hour had grown somewhat late, and with it the volume of the conversation had risen as the servers had made their rounds with refreshments, but still they were leaning quite close to one another. Laurence was uncertain why the point stuck with him, except that it seemed unnecessary; certainly they could hear each other just as easily at a more appropriate distance…

Belatedly he realized he must be staring, and mastered himself somewhat. Laurence nodded politely to encourage the discussion along, hoping to hide his distraction. He tamped down the bitter curl in his stomach as Chenery leaned forward further still, Tharkay tilting his head as he made to speak lowly into his ear.

Something Chenery said surprised a laugh from him, a beautiful smile blooming on his face. He leaned back in his chair, laying one hand on Chenery’s arm as Chenery grinned back at him. 

Laurence turned away, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the din of the party. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, stepping away from the small cluster of people, but the gentleman did not seem bothered in the least as he continued with his story.

Large, glass-paned doors led out onto the patio from the ballroom. It was considerably quieter outside, and cooler also, a slight breeze having picked up sometime in the last hour, certainly spelling rain later in the evening. Laurence paused for a moment just outside the door, considering his options.

The light from inside reached just to the edge of the brick patio, where a few others had gathered to enjoy a more quiet conversation. He apologized for the intrusion and quickly stepped past them, down the stone steps and into the gardens.

The dragons were having a gathering of their own, this being the first time in some months that many of them had seen one another. Laurence was sure that Temeraire would not mind his joining them, but he doubted he would make very good company. 

Instead he turned down the path leading deeper into the gardens. He would walk for a few minutes, clear his head, and then if need be he could find a coach and send word to Temeraire that he had elected to retire early. The night was clear, and a near full moon hung in the sky, so that the path was well lit by moonlight. 

Laurence had to force himself to slow his pace, filled with more energy than he could rightfully account for. Granby and Little had spent the better part of the evening in each other’s company, and none of his fellow aviators had so much as batted an eye. They had no reason to suspect—he supposed that even with Granby’s lack of discretion in Laurence’s case he did not broadcast their relationship outright—but even so, Laurence was sure that they could not be the only aviators who were intimate. It should be no shock. 

In any case, it was none of his concern where Tharkay’s affections may lie.

Nevermind that Laurence had not even considered…

He cast the thought from his mind. 

The first few drops of rain flecked his cheek, and Laurence sighed, stretching a hand out to feel the droplets on his palm. It wasn’t terribly cold, nor was it coming down very hard. He continued on his path a few more yards, and then turned under a hedge arch which gave some protection from the rain. 

There he paused, hugging his elbows, and cast a glance towards the iron grey sky. He had been overwarm inside the ballroom, but the wind cut him through his damp jacket. Putting space between himself and the party had done little to loosen the knot constricting his chest. He could not justify why it had so affected him to see Chenery and Tharkay’s interaction, but he could not put from his mind the image of Tharkay’s hand on Chenery’s arm. 

“I certainly would not have guessed that you would would tire of the party before I did.” Laurence jumped at Tharkay’s voice. 

He had been too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice his approach—and probably would not have heard him, anyway, even if he were on the lookout. Laurence caught himself glancing deeper into the gardens, as though he could still somehow make his escape there. Instead, he turned back to greet him, feeling foolishly like a treed fox, with nowhere to go deeper into the gardens as it resolved into a roundabout that lead back to this exact spot, and no way to politely avoid the conversation, besides.

He hesitated a moment more before shuffling to the side to make room for Tharkay to stand. Tharkay joined him beneath the leafy arch, his coat considerably more wet than Laurence’s own and clinging to his shoulders as the rain did away with the jacket’s stiffly pressed lines.

“I needed...air,” Laurence said. 

“It is indeed a lovely evening,” Tharkay said, sweeping his wet hair away from his face to survey the gardens as the rain-damp soil turned slowly into a mudhole. The wind picked up then, suddenly, as though to mock Laurence’s poor attempt at an excuse, and shook a few heavy droplets loose from the arch which was otherwise keeping them relatively dry.

“I—no, it is only that the company can be a bit...overwhelming,” he said. 

“I could believe it, and sympathize,” Tharkay said, “had I not seen you deal with far worse than the fluttering of society women with far more poise than that.”

Laurence cringed inwardly. He had not even thought to thank their host before slipping out unannounced, far too preoccupied with himself to consider the rudeness of his very sudden departure. 

He felt himself flush, being caught out with no explanation for his actions, but Tharkay was not a cruel man and did not let him suffer the embarrassment for long. His expression changed, then, the challenge in his eyes softening to something more alike to concern. “Is everything all right, Will?”

“Fine,” he said, perhaps somewhat unconvincingly, if Tharkay’s expression was any indication, “I am fine. I must apologize if my leaving abruptly pulled you away from...good company.”

Tharkay stared at him for a long moment before his face broke into a sharp grin. 

“Good company indeed,” he said, and Laurence noted with exasperation that he was being teased. “Though I prefer yours.”

Tharkay was staring at him in open amusement and expectation. They were following a script, and he was waiting for Laurence to deliver his line. This is how it always went: Tharkay always pushing, Laurence pulling back. It had been easier to consider it another day, another week, after the war, at the right moment. Perhaps he hadn’t been searching for the right moment, so much as recoiling from the chance of failure. He drew in a steady breath, steeling himself. 

Laurence was many things, but he was not a coward.

When he took Tharkay’s hand in his, his smile dimmed, confusion replacing the mirth in his gaze, as though he had expected Laurence to take the comment as a joke, and did not know now how to respond. Laurence ignored it, pulling on his hand until Tharkay had turned fully to face him. His expression had turned to one of bewilderment and, beneath it, apprehension. It was here that Laurence’s words failed him. 

“I have always—” here he stopped, “I consider you one of my closest friends,” he began again, “and I would not wish to lose you. But I would be remiss if I did not tell you that I have developed feelings for you. Have had, for some time, and I can no longer deny them in myself any more than I can resist acting on them, lest I spend the rest of my life resisting the urge to challenge every man who might court your affections to a duel.”

That last bit he had not intended to say aloud, face flushing at the thought of poor, harmless Chenery, while Tharkay all the while stared at him wide-eyed.

“Tenzing,” Laurence said, when the silence had stretched thin and uncomfortable between them. Tharkay gave a start, like he’d forgotten he was expected to respond. “Say something.” Tharkay was radiating heat in the damp chill, their still joined hands almost unbearably warm; he was heartened by the fact that Tenzing had not pulled it away. 

Tharkay’s eyes cast over his face, searching, and Laurence could see the panic there plainly beneath the mask, but he didn’t pull away. They settled on his lips, and Laurence stilled.

The moment dragged out between them, and then Tharkay seemed to find his courage, closing the last few inches between them. Their noses brushed, their heads already tilted, and Laurence felt Tharkay’s short exhale a moment before their lips pressed together.

Laurence had a moment to think that it must be unpleasantly cold to kiss him, when Tharkay’s lips feel so warm and soft against his own, but then a soft sound slipped between Tharkay’s lips, and all thought escaped him.

Laurence brought his free hand up to cradle Tharkay’s face, and warred with himself a moment before dropping his hand in favor of grabbing his waist, pulling him closer. Laurence sighed, lips parting, and kissed him back fiercely. There was no room for hesitation, no room for doubt, in the way that Tharkay responded like he’d been waiting for this very moment, and something like regret clenched at the thought.

Laurence pulled back slightly, kissed the side of his chin, his neck, but daring to go no further. He was distinctly aware of where they were, but Laurence couldn’t bring himself to care. He leaned back to press their lips together again, more tender.

“Laurence?” A call came from outside the gardens.

Tharkay pulled back as sharply as Laurence, an embarrassed look shared between them, before:

“Ah, there you are,” Granby said, his eyes fixed quite pointedly on the arch over them, as though it was the most interesting arrangement he had ever seen. “Our host is looking for you.”

There was a splash of color high on his cheeks, his eyes fixed on the canopy of leaves just above Laurence’s head, and Laurence was immediately mortified at the thought that he might have seen. A quick glance at Tharkay all but confirmed it, but the pleasure in his expression was so genuine that Laurence couldn’t bring himself to regret.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” Laurence said, not bothering to invent an excuse. Granby nodded, sparing one more glance between them, before retreating behind the topiaries. Once he had gone, he turned to Tharkay.

“I will make my goodbyes,” he said firmly, and then, more hesitant. “If you would like to accompany me back—“

“I will find us a coach,” Tharkay replied easily. “And inform Temeraire you intend to retire to your quarters early tonight.” 

That last was said as a slight question, and Laurence could not quell the heated flush in his cheeks, nor his grin. He kissed him briefly once more. “An excellent idea. I will meet you by the gates,” he said, and then he was off, headed back toward the house, the chill of the rain all but forgotten.


End file.
